Generation
by The Other Perspective
Summary: Back from the Games that changed her life... Katniss Everdeen is back in 12, looking forward to a life that she knows-but it doesn't take long until she has two tributes of her own, and everything she knows and feels is tested... Let the Games begin.
1. Chapter 1

**Whoah it's been so long since I've posted anything here! I need to get my sea legs back…  
****Anyway, just finished Mockingjay—**_**hated**_** the end—and realized that really, the series (for me) was only really good in Hunger Games. So, know before you read, I've begun writing immediately where HG leaves off. No Catching Fire or Mockingjay considered, included, or even thought of—so I hope it won't be too confusing!  
****Happy reading!  
****Topsy**

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Betrayal. In his eyes, on his face. In that last moment as he glances back at me over his shoulder and is engulfed by the waiting District 12. The accusing, tortured look is gone as quickly as it took to compose, and he's the lovable, easy talker that charmed Pamen into believing our false romance in the arena. Hands reach out and touch him, grab him, hug him, and he's swallowed off of 12's meager train platform and into the people we haven't been among since… since we were just kids in the Seam. Not tributes. Certainly not victors.

My feet shuffle forward as someone announces something over the crackly intercom system, and misty faces swirl past- smiling and congratulating me. My hands are clasped in innumerous others, but none of the fingers are the ones I let slip away. My groggily overwhelmed brain registers a few faces- Greasy Sae, Delly Cartwright, Madge, the mayor- but I'm not pulled fully into reality until thin and achingly familiar arms are thrown around my neck, skin and bone and blond braid, and Prim's voice is in my ear. "You came back," she says in a rush of pent-up breath. Over and over, intertwined with my name at times. Over her thin shoulder, my mother has tears carving their way down her dusty cheeks and a hand over her mouth as she watches us holding herself together with her other arm. Prim eventually slips back, and my mother gives me a soft, warm hug in arms that tear back memories of sitting on her lap with the light of the fire casting dancing shadows on her face as she watches my father teach Prim how to dance.

"Thank you," I say once we draw back to see each other's faces. I don't have to explain why- she nods and draws Prim to her side with a protective arm. My name is still bouncing around the crowd, next to his in a connected phrase that reminds me that this isn't my victory- I'm not the one 12 will remember. Not Katniss. _Peeta and Katniss_. The star-crossed lovers. The triumphant heroes. The ones who held up a handful of berries in a slap that the Capitol's colorfully painted face has never felt before.

Our reception is obviously another Games event that everyone is required to attend, because no faces are missing. My family, my friends, my neighbors… everyone is rushing at me with noise and movement, my head is whirling. I long for solitude, I long to be away from the Games, I long for-

A calloused, leanly built hand secures around my wrist as a smooth, low voice finds my ear, "Knew you'd win." I spin around to come face-to-face with the features I've been dying to see ever since I stepped on this very same train, headed the opposite direction. I feel a stupid smile split my face- and I don't think, just wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in that old black hunting jacket that fills my lungs with his woodsy, musty scent. A chuckle vibrates his chest before he gently returns my embrace.

We could be standing by the lake. We could be by the sticky counter in the Hob. We could be in the crowd on Reaping day- it feels the same. Gale's steady face and guiding eyes seal the truth; that I'm really home.

Falling into my own thin bed that night, exhaustion slogged through me to the point where I was sure I wasn't getting up for at least a week, much less dream. But the arena starred in my dreams- Prim's meager slip plucked from the Reaping ball by a multi-colored clownish being. A boy with curly blond hair crying red tears that stained his cheeks. Me, alone, standing on a round metal disc that stood floating thousands of feet above a sea of churning lava. Me running through a forest of heat, weapons flying at me, my steps accented with mournful cannons. Rue, smiling at me from the ground with an awful wolfish snout and a spear running through her belly. Peeta kissing me, his arms around my waist made of unyielding, binding steel. And throughout it all, the Capitol's creepily contorted anthem…

I sat upright so quickly, my head spun and my eyes couldn't focus for another few moments. It's over, I keep telling myself. I'm not going back. It's over. Too jittery to go back to sleep, I swing my legs over the side of my bed and into my old boots. Those, paired with the weight of my father's hunting jacket and my old bow and quiver slung over my back, gave me a comforting rush that propelled me to the door. Mother and Prim would know where I'd gone- they've live with me long enough to know my ways of relieving stress. For good measure, I'd left the edges of my bed covers folded up to form a sort of triangle- my sign that I'm off hunting. I hadn't used that method in such a long time, I hoped Prim still remembers to look for it before freaking out.

I swing open the front door, letting in cool morning breeze and- no, the light's blocked. I tense, shooting my gaze from the threshold to- he's smiling. Hand raised, fist clenched, knuckled tilted in a way that makes it obvious he was about to knock. I quickly wipe away my tense expression and wave him out of my way impatiently. I hear him laugh quietly as he closes the door without a noise. I know he's following me, up the old road and off to the field. Even though his breath is noiseless, his footsteps not yielding his position at all, I can feel him.

"Thought you'd want to… get away. From it all." I jump the slightest bit- he's right by my shoulder, voice not needing to be much louder than a murmur.

"You thought right. And anyway, I want breakfast."

"Well, it won't be any Capitol feast, but how does a rabbit sound to you? I just found a new warren by the lakeside."

"Perfect." Something's off, and we both feel it. It's not quite like the other hunting mornings we shared. And what's heavy on both of our minds hangs in the moist air between us, waiting for the solitude of the woods to break free.

I clear the fence, only snagging my pants once, and step a little ways under the cover of the trees before pausing to take in how great it is to be back. The small birds sing to one another on their own accord, not because someone has programmed them to do so. The light filters naturally through the trees, uncontrolled by a switch somewhere. And best of all, I have my hunting partner back, who I'm not trying to kill or am constantly lying with… and to.

I let him lead the way through our usual paths and clearings, surprised when he walks right past traps he's laid, even when there's game waiting there. He makes no attempt to shoot the only doe we see- I don't miss the chance. My arrow misses her shoulder and hits the top of her foreleg- I silently curse and remind myself that this is my bow, not the silver one in the arena, before adjusting to the more taut string and landing the killing blow. Gale watches me with his dazed mask that only portrays slight interest and even a bit of discomfort. His bow is untouched on his back- he didn't even _try_ for the doe. He must be really out of it.

Nonetheless, we prepare the doe as we would any other day, his clog of thoughts seemingly cleared enough to help me relocate it to where we'll find it on the way back. And with fresh blood wiped on my pants and my arrow cleaned and stowed, he silently leads off to where his mind already is- our rock by the lake. I wisely pluck off a stray rabbit on the trail, knowing I'm going to want something to keep my hands busy. Because we never go to the rock to hunt, or fish, or scavenge- the rock is for talking. Countless afternoons have been spent here, me sitting relaxed on the smooth stone surface with a pile of plucked geese at my feet, Gale on his feet, pacing sometimes, throwing his hands in the air with raw frustration that had only really dented my surface. His feelings about the Capitol had never really been something I could relate to- sure I knew the Hunger Games were wrong, everyone did. And how we lived off of almost nothing, while everyone knew the Capitol people were lounging in luxury by fires burning _our_ coal. I'd just never seen the point in expressing how I felt about the Capitol if I, a measly girl from the Seam, couldn't do squat to change anything. And as a girl, I couldn't. But as a tribute…

Gale stood with his back to me, arms crossed over his chest; bow deposited a few feet away. He took a somewhat unstable breath before turning to face me.

"So?" A reserved curiosity glinted in his grey eyes as he regarded me.

"It's fake," I blurt before I can even consider what to tell him. "Peeta and me- it's for the audience, it was all planned, I don't- we never—"

He crosses over to sit by me, and I avoid his eyes as my lips tremble with the words I've been dying to tell someone, my palms pressed against the cold stone beneath me.

"Slow down," he says calmly. "And start from the beginning."

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**Reviews are amazing—I always, always, always love them!  
****Thanks for five minutes of your life…  
****Topsy**


	2. Chapter 2

**Kind of a weird chappie... hope you like.**  
**Topsy**

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"You're not going to like it," I warned him, stroking the rabbit on my lap with idle fingers.

"It's the Games," he says simply. "No one should _like_ it."

"Alright," I said, taking a bracing breath. "Where should I start?"

"The arena," he says, voice stiff in preparation.

"It's… a whole different world, really. Like you're completely isolated and yet exposed for everyone to see, at the same time. But it's really just another hunting game, if you can think like that. Move silently, kill swiftly, and you should be fine." My voice receded to whisper. "Surely you saw what it was like just by watching us- me."

"Looked tough, but I knew you were tougher. Though I admit I was a bit worried when I saw the bow and arrows at the Cornucopia… it was a bloodbath…"

"O ye of little faith," I mutter, elbowing him. He half-smiled.

"And then you disappeared for a while. I mean, you must've been fine because the cameras didn't bother giving you screen time. They bothered in watching that boy from nine die slowly, though…" He paused, mentally editing. "And your alliance with Rue? Why?"

"I guess I didn't ask that. I asked why not? She seemed trustworthy, though not about to run off when she gets bored with me… we had stuff in common. It was a mistake—" My voice cracked.

"The alliance?" he prodded gently.

"No. The friendship. I was stupid, thinking I was going to gain anything by having a _friend_ in the arena. Knowing that one of us is going to die. And the other is going to suffer. Nobody gets out unharmed."

"And you sang to her…"

"I sang her to death, yes. And covered her in flowers…" I let the thought fade away with any moisture that had gathered in my gaze.

Sensing the need for a topic change, Gale finally chipped the tip of the iceburg we had yet to climb. "And… Peeta?"

I gave a humorless laugh, just one. More of a rushed exhale. "And Peeta. I really did want to kill him, when he was with the Careers… wait, he _did_ save me from Caoto, right?" I waited for him to say no, or give me a weird look, but he just looked solemn and nodded.

"Tracker-jacker venom?" he asked for explanation.

"Yeah… horrible stuff."

Another pause clogged the air.

"What was the worst part?" I asked quietly, setting the rabbit down by my boots. "For you?"

"It can't even compare to what you've been through," he warned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands hanging before him. "But there were only really three."

My silence told him to go on.

"The fireballs. Your burn from them- I'd watched the other tributes get hurt before you, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't their skin that got fried. It wasn't their bone showing. It wasn't their blood."

I pressed back the memory of endless heat and firey pain, trying instead to think of how their cameras could've seen me through the gagging smoke.

"The cave."

I waited for an explanation before realizing I didn't want to hear it.

"You… you're a damn good actress." His steely grey eyes skipped over the surface of the lake, up to the treetops, down to his worn boots, anywhere but my gaze. He was bothered. But he didn't need ranting for this. His silence was harsh enough.

"And?" I prodded. I could guess, though.

"The berries." Thought so. The ultimate profession of a love that I branded as fake for so long before I stopped and actually thought. Even realized that not only is this my only ticket out of the arena… but I couldn't honestly live without him. After all he'd done.

His explanation didn't come, so I guessed my own. "You thought you'd lost me." I meant to death. His gaze finally lifted to mine, and I realized he didn't.

"I'd already lost you by then," he said bitterly. "I'd lost you as soon as you called out for him in that tree. And I keep looking," his eyes searched my face, "but I can't find you."

In one fluid motion, he was on his feet, bow scooped from the ground. He cleared his throat gruffly, retrieving the rabbit from my boots. "So," he coughed. "Do you want to eat, or what?"

I nodded and got to my feet, but the hostility waving off him set off my hunter's mentality, and I only ended up with two geese. I forgot all about the doe. We didn't talk at all as we hunted, only emitting frustrated sighs when we screwed up, or relieved rushes when we didn't. The way his eyes were guarded stopped me whenever I tried to say something, and after a few hours I couldn't help but begin to feel angry with him. I'd looked forward to coming home to a relationship that I didn't always have to question, or gave me headaches to think about. I'd been dreaming of this day, when we could just go hunting together and have it be normal- no questions about any alternate intentions. I'd been stewing over this for so long, by the time we neared the fence again and Gale had the wit to ask if I needed _help_ over it, I acted childishly.

The rabbit I'd been carrying around found itself flung through the air and smacked into the back of Gale's head.

"Ouch," he complained slowly, though I could see he wasn't actually in any pain. "What was that for?"

"For—for—making it hard!" I exclaimed as I realized I didn't quite know my intentions behind my rabbit-attack. "And for a lousy welcome," I added in a childishly stubborn grumble.

"_I'm_ making it hard?" he said, matching my tone of impatience. "I'm the not the one who spent her whole Games stuck to a wimpy baker boy!"

"You think it was _easy_?"

"Whispering sweet nothings and making out all day? Didn't seem too _taxing_ to me."

I dropped my armload of geese to better gesticulate what had been bubbling up inside of my head for so long. "And having my leg burnt to a crisp? Being attacked by Tracker Jackers? Almost dehydrating to death? And then—because I, like you said, had it too _easy_—having to single-handed nurse a dying, immobile guy back to pristine condition—"

He opened his mouth to interrupt, but I didn't give him the time.

"—_while_ watching _both_ our backs for the people who are out to _kill_ us. _All the time_. Not to mention knowing that if I'm being too _boring_, someone up in the Games control room can press a button and have my only safe haven _explode_! So maybe I did like kissing him—maybe I came up with the berries because we both knew that we'd saved each other's butts—but if that looked too _easy_ for you, why don't _you_ try it. And the odds—" I took a huge huff of breath, "—are _not_ in your favor."

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**Review? You know you want to...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

I stopped, chest heaving, and realized that I sounded like I was whining. I had enough reason to, but I wasn't a whiny person and hoped that the Games wouldn't turn me into one of those people who would shoot down anyone's problems with a mighty "Well, _I_ almost had my _leg_ burnt off."

Gale stood silently for a moment. It was obviously new to him to not be the one ranting, but the quiet bystander. He took a breath. "But you still went to seek him out. When they said you could both win. You knew he was badly wounded and wouldn't be of any help to you, and yet you went to find him."

"Of course I did. I could've left him alone, defenseless, to die—making me look heartless to the boy who all of Panem knew to truly love me, but I didn't… I would have lost sponsors like flies, and even if I did win alone, I would have to come home to a twelve that sees a girl who had a chance to save the boy from her own home—and turned her back on him to claim her own victory."

"But it's the Games," he insisted. "People are heartless. People do cruel things to survive. You wouldn't have been the first. And I wouldn't have hated you to come home alone…"

"For different reasons." I re-collected my armload of game, turned on my heel, and headed off toward the fence.

Something heavy and unstructured smacked into the back of my head, snapping my chin to my chest momentarily. I froze, muscles tensing, and turned slowly back around to see the rabbit I'd thrown sitting at my feet. My gaze swept from the rabbit up to Gale's face, which he was trying to stick with anger, but had amusement bursting through the cracks.

Keep it serious, I told myself. You're mad at him. He's making you angry. Walk away. Walk—

But I'm particularly bad at following orders. I threw the goose in my right hand with surprisingly good aim—he flitted out of the way, narrowly missing my feathered projectile. I hardly had to time to remind myself I'm mad before he'd scooped up the bird and chucked it at my gut. I laughed—_laughed_—as I skipped out of the way, and soon enough game was flying, laughter bounced off the stoic trees, and I'd entirely forgotten why I had been angry.

After a piece of immeasurable time, our crazed laughter descended slowly into chuckles and eventually just content smiles that stuck to our faces as we went about picking up our battlefield. Our crop had certainly suffered from the game-war; most were too mangled and beat-up to be of any worth for even the Hob. We both realized that, but decided to bring them anyway in hopes they would taste the same though they looked like they'd been through a vicious tornado and back.

I headed for the last goose left on the ground, bending to add it to my armful—so did Gale. Our heads knocked comically, and we both straightened up, rubbing our foreheads. He met my gaze, finally, and I was surprised to find those grey eyes to be bemused, lovingly interested, yet slightly dark.

"What?" I found myself snapping.

"Nothing," he said, taking a cautious step toward me. "Just seems to me… that you _are_ here."

And suddenly his rough hand was on my jaw, and he was kissing me as I'd never been kissed before. My poor, abused game thudded to the ground and my arms reached around his neck, liking this odd moment, savoring the possibility that maybe my fate isn't completely sealed. Maybe I have options…

He smiled down at me for a moment after we'd both drawn back for air. "Better than Peeta?" he asked, slightly breathless, hands dropping down my shoulders to rest on my waist.

"Yeah," I breathed, not even stopping to think. There might have been a few that came close, but all the Peeta moments were now shrouded in guilt in my memory, and I felt stupid for not seeing before that it hadn't been an act for him. Gale, along with the rest of Panem, apparently hadn't missed that minor detail.

"Good," he said with a triumphant grin. He untangled himself and stooped to gather our forgotten and highly abused crop of the day, and it took me a moment of foggy thoughts until I dropped to help him.

"Can't believe she took them," Gale laughed as we headed back up the road to my new house in Victor Village. I'd been sad to move out of the old one—so many memories take root there—but I wouldn't, apparently, be a proper victor if I weren't in the Village.

"She's just going to cut them up anyway," I shrugged.

We walked for a while in silence, my shoulder bumping his upper arm occasionally.

"So," he finally coughed. "What's next for the Victors?"

"The tour, I'd imagine," I groan. "With a bunch of other frou-frou interviews and stuff…" I trailed off into my own pool of dread.

"You'll be fine," Gale consoled lamely. "Can't be worse than the Games themselves."

"I guess…"

We turned the corner into the cul-de-sac lined with twelve gleaming, huge white houses. Their outsides looked fresh, the gardens impeccably kept, everything glossed to be impressive. And fake. Unhomey.

"Home, sweet home," I muttered under my breath as Gale eyed the houses with a judging eye.

"Well, they're certainly… big."

I snorted. "Thanks. How're we supposed to know…?"

But just then Prim burst out of one of the front doors, fiddling restlessly with a ribbon on one of her braids. "There you are," she called, relief coloring her cheeks. "We—uh—need you."

My brow furrowed at her tone. Trying to be light, but worried underneath.

"I better go," I said, turning back to my hunting partner.

"Yeah…" he smiled at me for just a second before reaching down to gently kiss my upper lip, just once, leaving me feeling too warm and frozen.

"Katniss?" Prim called again. There was a slight giggle in my name.

Brushing away any unrelated thoughts, I headed off towards my new house, where my little sister stood—who was worried about something—and yet managing to _giggle_.

"So… are you guys…" Prim asked, leading me into the spacious house. Clean, empty air filled the place for lack of life—no plants, no people in my sight. Everything was washed out and pale, made of all flat edges and corners. It was spacious… but I couldn't picture myself _living_ in such a place.

"What? No. I mean, kinda but—it's just a…" I sighed. "I don't know. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"That you don't know, or that you were _kissing Gale_ outside?" she said with a slightly tense yet mischievous smile. How she managed to have so many emotions at the same time was beyond me. I expected her to explode at any minute.

"I mean," she continued, "it was only a matter of time before you guys were like that—he's so handsome and you two spend like every day together, but I thought you and Peeta…?"

"Don't tell. Please."

She shrugged and nodded before taking a tight turn into a kitchen that was big enough to cook a Capitol meal in. And prepare it. And have ten people eat it. But I didn't have time to admire the appliances, because sitting on one of the glossy stools by the counter, with a shock of pink hair and a neon green clipboard, sat Effie Trinket.

**Sorry they're so short. I have a short attention span =).  
Hope you like-feel free to review.**

**Topsy **


	4. Chapter 4

**I miss Gale already.**  
**Enoy.**  
**Topsy **

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"Ah _there_ you are," she said, getting to her feet atop her ridiculous purple heels. My pulse quickened; a visit from a Capitol-ite never brought good news.

"Been hiding from us all morning," piped up a hoarse voice from near the shiny new fridge. My heart sank even lower as I saw that its owner was Haymitch, leaning against the glossy new appliance with a look of extreme boredom. I was about to demand to know what more they could possibly want from me when—of course—the back door slams shut and none other than the blond-haired boy himself ducks into our cozy little gathering.

"Sorry," he muttered, settling his shoulder against the doorframe as he took in his company. "You… wanted me?"

"You knew they were here?" I exclaim, subconsciously moving away from him and towards the massive table.

"Yeah—I mean, they called this morning. Where were you?" He raised his tone to match mine.

"Out! Doing… stuff. _Living_—unlike you, who were probably huddled up in your mansion all day, admiring your new _winnings_!"

"Alright, let's not get too cozy now, lovebirds," Haymitch warned—reminded, really, that we were totally blowing our image in front of Effie. But she didn't even seem to take too much notice of our yelling; she was pacing in her own little clipped way, examining her clipboard and scratching multiple things off with a huge orange feather pen.

Dread froze my gut as I took in the meaning of this kitchen-crashing: in my mind, Effie equals Capitol, Haymitch equals Games, and Peeta equals large pounding headache of foggy confusion. All three of them together equals _bad_.

"So," Effie sang in her odd Capitol accent as Haymitch shot us a sharp warning glance, "Reaping Day is in exactly one month and six days." Her neon pink painted lips opened to continue, but I didn't let her.

"Why so soon? The Games only happen once a year!"

"In the _old times_ they did," she said, pronouncing 'old times' as one might say 'dead rat'. "But this is the dawn of a new age! Two victors! The Quarter Quell up next! We can't possibly wait a whole year to do it all again!"

_No_. Not even a year of life without the intended deaths, the planned gore… But I understood what was going on, and, by the set look on Peeta's face, he did too. This was the Capitol's way of getting back at us. We showed them a handful of berries; they show us a Games that promises to be extra-painful, extra-sickening—and now, extra-early.

"Any other, er—_changes_ in this new age?" Peeta asked somewhat awkwardly, which showed how hard this had hit him, too; words normally came so easily to him.

"Oh, _lots_ of them!" Effie squealed as if leaking hot gossip. "Of course, we _all_ know that the Quarter Quell has been planned for _years_—the arena is state-of-the art, took a _good_ piece of time to design! And, of course, this new time change—because honestly, who can _wait_ for the next Games after the _fabulous_ show you two presented!"

"And," coughed Haymitch, "Imatring."

"What?" Peeta and I both leaned forward a bit to make out his mumble.

"Immareting."

Peeta, apparently, understood him, because he fell back against the doorframe with a time-weathered groan, rubbing his face with both hands. "So we're on our own?" he demanded of our mentor. "To prep these two kids for almost _guaranteed_ slaughter?"

"He's retiring," I murmured to myself, staring blankly at the man as if I'd never seen him before. How _could_ he—back out on us when we need his coaching the most? Renewed anger startled to sizzle in my chest as I realized how much we really needed him. I can't talk my way out of a paper bag, and Peeta—to put him through getting attached to a kid then having to watch it die?

"No—Haymitch, I—"

"I'm afraid you don't have much choice in the matter," Effie piped. "There can only be two mentors, and to split you two up would be _unspeakable_! And Haymitch himself has already produced not one but _two_ very able victors—_surely_ you agree that he _deserves_ a vacation?"

A vacation? In 12? What was he going to do, move into the Victor house next to him for a change of scenery while Peeta and I grasp at straws to prepare these kids?

"Anyway," she sang, "I did a little favor for you two, I did. I—and this is very exciting!—I _requested_ to have Cinna and Porsche as your tributes stylists!"

A tiny trickle of cool relief found its way into my rushing river of panic and need for someone to blame. Cinna… the thought of working with him again gave me the tiniest comfort. He is my friend, after all. Having a friend in the Capitol isn't something many District people can claim.

"Thank you… Effie," Peeta managed to choke out.

"You're very welcome! I am quite brilliant at times—they were going to be assigned to better Districts since they designed the Victors, but the seemed happy enough to stay with twelve." A furrow of airheaded confusion creased her unnaturally white brow. "In the meantime," she perked considerably, "you two will be having a _very_ special interview with old Caesar in place of the drab so-called _tradition_ of the Victor's Tour. I mean, what did we get out of _that_ old thing anyway?" She chirped a laugh.

Another bout of relief. An interview with Caesar could only last an hour, hour and a half at most—and I had Peeta to smile and look good and do all the talking. With the Tour off my chest, I felt a bit more light-hearted—or as light-hearted as I could while still knowing that we had to somehow raise tributes.

"That," Effie clipped, consulting her clipboard, "will take place in three weeks and don't you forget it! Your stylists and I will come to pick you up the day before so we can get you pretty again before Panem has to see you. Because a bit—" she scrutinized my dirty boots and blood-stained pants, "—hm, a _lot_ of make-up and some decent clothes make all the difference!"

I ignored the Effie-ized insult and tried to focus on how much time that left for me to be in 12… out of the five-ish weeks we had until Reaping Day, two, probably three, days were going to be taken by the Games. Another interview. More fake smiling. I can do that. This is doable. I just survived the Hunger Games.

"And in the meaner time," said Maymitch gruffly, moving to lean his forearms on the smooth marble counter, "I don't want to see any of _this_." He indicated the large space between us with a waggling forefinger. "Yelling at each other? You two are in _love_, c'mon, I know you can do better than that."

"But that's just for the cameras," I pointed out before thinking. Peeta flinched the slightest bit, a muscle in his jaw twitching in discontent. Guilt hit me a moment too late and I wished I could snatch my words back from the air and stuff them back down my throat.

"And it's _that_ mentality that's going to get _you_," he fixed his oddly sober gaze heavily on me, "found out. Gullible as they may be, your acting skills are slipping. So I want you two together all day, every day, eating at the same table, sleeping in the same house, going about whatever mundane things you do all day. Together. Understood?"

I nodded solemnly; Peeta just stared at his shoes.

"And don't think," he said, tone creeping into a warning, "that I won't know if you two separate. I have eyes in many places…"

"Won't this be lovely?" Effie suddenly chirped, snapping back into reality at just the right time. "We've arranged one of the Victor's houses for you two _lovebirds_." She grinned a tiny, mischievous sort of grimace that made my stomach churn. Apparently, the whole kitchen between us, and unwillingness coming off us in waves didn't mess up her picture of happy lovers.

"Right-o! I'd better be off. Hovercraft is waiting—good-bye now!" And with that, Effie trinket clipped her way out of my house, clipboard tucked under her elbow.

Taking that as his cue, Haymitch unsettled himself and slip something small and shiny across the counter in our direction. "Seriously," he warned with one last penetrating glance. Peeta and I stood where we were as we listened to him shuffle down the hall, get frustrated with the fancy doorknob and eventually yank the door open by brute force, and slam his way out.

Peeta moved first. He plucked the shiny set of what I now recognized as highly decorative keys and jangled them out in front of him. "There's three," he noted blandly. "Mine has four."

I didn't grace this petty observation with a reply, but instead trumped upstairs and ducked my head into every empty room until I found the one all my things had been dumped in.

"Don't leave the house," he called up the stairs, "in such a way that I can't follow you."

With my one bag of things, I headed back to the top of the white staircase, at the base of which Peeta stood with a hand on each railing.

"Because I will trail you, you know," he said, softer now. "Wherever you go. It will be like I'm not even there, if that's what you want. You can try and loose me if you feel like it. I won't bother you like I have been all this time. You're obviously happier without me."

* * *

**Review? Pretty please? For me?**  
**Topsy **


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